


Wild Youth

by Archedes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7252330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archedes/pseuds/Archedes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, the pain from the injections is unbearable.</p><p>A collection of Jack/Gabe one-shots, pre-fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Locker Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pre-Overwatch

Some days, the pain from the injections is unbearable. Morrison finds Reyes alone in the locker room, in a back corner hunched so tensely it’s as if he is trying to fold in on himself. Morrison watches for a moment, and he knows that perhaps the kinder thing—the thing Reyes would appreciate more—would be to turn and leave and pretend he had never seen Reyes so vulnerable. But Morrison is feeling selfish, and instead he walks forward, crouching before Reyes and trying to catch a glimpse of his face where he has it buried in his arms.

He knows that Reyes knows he’s there, can see it in the almost-imperceptible way Reyes tenses just a little bit more. He’s breathing heavy, and Morrison knows from personal experience that Reyes will not have the breath to speak because it’ll be all he can do just to get enough air in his lungs to breathe. It’s a deep-seated pain, starting from the marrow of the bones and curling outwards, an aching sting that lingers just beneath the skin and out of sight. “It’s a bitch of a program, ain’t it?” Morrison has to be smug—just for the moment. “How are those enhancements treating you today, Reyes?” The gauze pad taped to Reyes’s arm is soaked through with red: the needles were thick and the serums thinned the blood. Morrison can see pink spots from the other places Reyes had been injected—they spanned the length and width of his inner arms, much like Morrison’s own.

Reyes groans and lashes out, snagging Morrison’s wrist and holding it tight, his grip compounded by the pain wracking his body. When Reyes looks up, his expression is withering, and Morrison smiles a little despite himself. He pats the back of Reyes’s hand, and his skin is hot to the touch. Whether through that small gesture or from the intense pain, Reyes’s indignation is soon exhausted, and he retrieves his hand and buries his face once more. Morrison considers leaving again; the thought bounces around his head for a minute or two before he moves to sit beside Reyes, his back against the garish yellow lockers. The door opens, and Morrison hears someone rummaging around the front of the room. All the while, the two of them sit quietly, and Morrison waits patiently for Reyes’s episode to find its conclusion.

At some point, Morrison can feel Reyes leaning against him, and he wonders if it’s on purpose. He doesn’t reciprocate the touch; he knows from personal experience that it would be poorly received. The other person leaves, and the door slams shut behind them. Reyes releases a ragged breath. “You won’t be the program’s golden boy at this rate, if they find out how badly you’re reacting to it,” Morrison says without thinking. “What is it now? The fifth time this week?”

He knows that the pain is starting to subside because Reyes mutters, “…Do you ever…stop talking?” The words are heavy with exhaustion.

“You need to tell the doctor, Reyes.”

“You…need to mind…your own business.” Without looking, he can hear Reyes struggle to even out his breathing. He is unbearably warm where Reyes is pressed against him, and again—without thinking—Morrison puts an arm around him and pulls him closer. He expects resistance, but there is none, and Reyes grunts quietly, his head resting against Morrison’s shoulder. It isn’t long before his breathing evens out.

Impulsively, Morrison turns and presses his face into Reyes’s hair, breathing him in as he brushes his lips against him. “I’m not carrying you to your bed if you fall asleep, you know,” he murmurs.

“Then carry me to yours.”

Morrison laughs, gently taking Reyes by the chin and lifting his head so he can catch his lips. After a moment, Reyes responds, allowing Morrison’s tongue between his lips. It is slow and tinged with sleep, and it is not long before Reyes has his fill and pulls away. “Help me up,” Reyes says. Morrison presses a kiss to Reyes’s temple before yielding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one goes out to simple plan


	2. "What kinda meat you want for dinner?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pre-Overwatch, post soldier program

“Are you coming on to me, Morrison?” His face reddens: it starts from his ears and moves down to his cheeks, and then his eyes begin that dance between Reyes and the wall behind him.

“I—what—all I said was—”

“I know what you said.”

“But that wasn’t—Christ, you know what I _meant_.”

“Do I?” Reyes inspects one of his fingernails, though when he shifts his gaze back to Morrison, the blush spreads to his neck.

“Aren’t you a little goddamn old for this?” Morrison demands, but by now he can no longer meet Reyes’s eyes and instead busies himself by looking through the refrigerator.

“You’re the one blushing like a teenager.”

“Oh, fuck off. On assignment for two fucking weeks and now that you’re back, I can’t wait for you to leave again.”

Reyes laughs. In many ways, Morrison is still the small town boy from Indiana, and this is something Reyes has known for some time. When taken off guard, Morrison forgets himself—that he is a decorated soldier with years of military experience. It’s cute, though he much prefers Morrison think he’s only trying to give him a hard time (though that is another part of it that Reyes enjoys). “For all your big talk, you’re still a boy scout.” He moves up behind Morrison, slipping his arms around his waist and pressing against his back.

Morrison stiffens as Reyes brushing his lips across his ear. “Would you like to know my answer?” After a beat, Morrison slams the fridge door shut, and the spell is broken. When he forcibly turns to face him, his nose bumps against Reyes’s.

There is a split second where Reyes wonders if he’s about to get hit, but Morrison only gives him a shove—a light one, though he could have easily sent him flying back onto his ass. Reyes releases him, though he makes no effort to move. “I was just thinking steak would be nice. For dinner,” he says innocently, and he can tell that that catches Morrison off guard too, but this time he laughs. It’s a nice sound, Reyes thinks—and immediately feels foolish for thinking it. He feels Morrison’s hands sliding over his hips and clasping at the small of his back. When Morrison pulls him closer, he has to brace himself against the refrigerator.

The color has finally left Morrison’s face, and Reyes frowns. Morrison mirrors him, but before he can ask Reyes is at his neck, kissing with his teeth. He can feel Morrison shudder, and he works his way up,  sucking just beneath his jaw until he’s sure it’s left a mark before moving on to his lips. By then, Morrison’s hands have slipped under his shirt, and he can feel nails digging into his back. When Morrison starts tugging at his bottom lip, Reyes pulls back. Morrison is flushed. “You miss me that much, Jack?” he asks smugly, admiring the bruise he left.

Morrison narrows his eyes. “The fuck you think?” he asks testily, clearly not finding being toyed with nearly as amusing as Reyes does. Morrison lets go of him and turns, shouldering him out of the way as he heads towards the phone mounted on the kitchen wall. “Takeout it is.”

“What? You’re not going to cook me a nice meal, now?”

“No.”

“Hm.” He watches as Morrison picks through the stack of menus on the nearby counter, selecting one seemingly at random. When he punches in the number, Reyes can hear the buttons groan under the force. Morrison’s pissed and Reyes doesn’t need his enhanced hearing to figure that out. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, regretting the words the moment they leave his mouth, “I…missed you too.”

He can see Morrison’s ears grow red, but by then the other line has picked up and he’s talking into the receiver, stalwartly facing the wall so Reyes can’t see his face. It’s a little funny, but he figures he’s pushed Morrison enough and doesn’t want to make him spiteful enough to kick Reyes out of the bedroom his first night back.

So he leaves Morrison be and ventures into the living room to drape himself over the couch. He turns on the television long enough to hear the word “omnic” before turning it off. He can hear Morrison hang up the phone, and he lingers in the kitchen for a few minutes before Reyes hears his footsteps make their way out and around the couch. “I got you your steak,” Morrison says dryly, and Reyes smiles up at him.

For a moment, they simply look at each other. Morrison’s eyes are hooded, and Reyes is tempted to ask what’s on his mind. But he’s been candid enough today, almost to the point of discomfort. He needs to back off a little—more for his own sake than Morrison’s. “I was just thinking about how much I hate myself for not being able to stay mad at you,” Morrison says suddenly, as if reading Reyes’s mind.

“It might bite you in the ass,” Reyes agrees.

“Sure it will.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds more, until Reyes pats his chest expectantly. Morrison scoffs, but he accepts the invitation, climbing over him and resting his head just under Reyes’s chin.  Reyes wraps his arms around him, sliding both hands under Morrison’s shirt and scratching lightly at his back. Morrison sighs, and Reyes can feel his nose brushing against his throat. “When is your assignment?” Reyes asks.

“In a week. Five-day operation. Should be routine, but we’ll see.”

“Mm.”

“So try not to be an ass for the seven days we have.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Reyes feels Morrison’s lips at his neck. “Thank you,” he says, his words muffled and the motion tickling Reyes’s skin. There is a whisper of teeth, but nothing more than that as Morrison settles down and tucks his hands under Reyes’s shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one goes out to jocy seifers on tumbler.com. probably more self-indulgent than the first one.


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pre-Overwatch

If they had the money for it, Morrison could shower for hours. He forgets himself in there, gets lost in the steam and heat where everything melts away except for the racing fields that make up his hometown skyline. Sometimes he feels like he can’t go a day without talking about how he’s going to go back soon, how he’s going to sit down at his parents’ kitchen table and eat his mother’s cooking like he’s twelve years old again. There’s an email sitting in both his and Reyes’s inboxes talking about an omnic strike team, but all Morrison can do is wish the world will hold off for one goddamn second so he can go home again. By the time Morrison gets out, the water’s been cold for nearly fifteen minutes.

Reyes is in his lounge chair reading something on his tablet.  Morrison looks at him and wonders how many times Reyes has humored his plans to go back home, has nodded and agreed while knowing as well as Morrison does that he’ll never get the chance. Not now, when all the local news stations have around-the-clock coverage on the omnic attack that leveled an entire downtown district. There are no omniums near his town, and sometimes that desperate thought leaks into his showers and follows him out of them.

“Why is it—” Morrison only realizes how long he’s been standing there, dripping onto the hardwood floor in his boxers, until Reyes speaks, “—that you always get out of the shower with that look on your face?”

“What look?”

“Like your dog just died.” Reyes lifts his head from his tablet, leveling an inscrutable look at him. Morrison finds it hard to meet his eyes.

“Been thinking about visiting my parents.”

“Ah.”

“But that probably won’t happen now, will it?”

“It might.”

“Don’t patronize me, Gabriel,” Morrison snaps, harsher than he intends. “Once they put that team together, that’ll be it. No going anywhere until this mess is cleaned up.”

Reyes looks at him for a moment longer before returning to his tablet, and Morrison knows he should say something but can’t. The frustration is eating him up inside, and he’s starting to wonder exactly when he agreed that he to be a soldier first to the detriment of all else. The silence that settles between them is heavy, but Reyes breaks it before he can.

“You’re not the only one who’s got family they want to see, Morrison,” he says, his tone lacking the condemnation that Morrison expects from him. But his words don’t need the edge because all the anger rushes out of Morrison, leaving only regret in its place.

“You’re right.” Morrison rubs his chin, suddenly needing to keep his hands busy and wishing Reyes would look at him. But his eyes remain locked on the tablet screen. Morrison can tell that he isn’t really seeing it. “I…Your mother. Have you heard from her?”

“She’s all right.” Reyes’s tone is too even for Morrison’s liking.

“And your sister?”

“Her too.”

“I know they live near an omnium—”

“Fuck the omnium,” Reyes growls, giving Morrison a look that cuts right through him. “Look. If you want to drown in your own self-pity, leave me out of it. You might as well just fucking opt out of the team now if you’re so sure you’ve got nothing left to fight for. Don’t start trying to push your shit onto me.”

Morrison has nothing to say to that, and all he can do is stand there and feel like a selfish child. For the first time he considers that the assurances Reyes gave him were his way of reassuring himself. Morrison is suddenly overcome with the need to touch Reyes, to be near him. “I’m sorry, Gabe. I really… It’s hard, you know, not to let it all get to you. I’m sorry.”

Reyes considers him for a moment, and for a second he seems far older than he is as Morrison notices the bags under his eyes and the lines on his face. “But I got you, right?” Morrison goes on, giving a weak smile. “So it’s not like all my family’s gone.”

Reyes’s face goes slack, and he opens his mouth to respond but closes it a few moments later. Then he clears his throat and buries his face back in his tablet. “Christ, Morrison, it’s hard to believe you’ve killed people when you stand there in your goddamn underwear saying shit like that.”

“Am I embarrassing you?”

“You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Oh.” But Morrison doesn’t have the heart to keep up the repartee, and he can see that there is no humor on Reyes’s face. He feels weighed down when he crosses the room, but he forces through it until he can lean over the back of Reyes’s chair and wrap his arms around his neck. Reyes sighs, and it is a tired sound. “You can talk to me, you know,” Morrison says quietly.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Reyes is dismissive, and Morrison drops it after that. After a few minutes, his chest begins to ache from where the chair is digging into it, and he straightens up.

Morrison leaves the room then, and when he returns—freshly clothed—Reyes is in the same spot, his eyes locked listlessly on the far wall. “There was an attack near the house,” he begins without looking, and Morrison frowns. “A frag mine went off too close when they were running. My sister—” Reyes breaks himself off, and it is quiet for several moments until he stands up and finally faces Morrison. “The point is,” he grounds out, “if a good-natured idiot like you loses himself in all of this, what chance is there for the rest of us?”

Reyes’s face is uncharacteristically open, and Morrison can see fear lingering in his dark eyes. “Doubt is a luxury people like us don’t get to have,” Reyes says quietly, and as he passes Morrison he places his hand on his shoulder for a brief second before disappearing into the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one goes out 2 emmie meteor-strike on tumbles.com. absolutely not at all what u asked for but what can u do!!! also thank u for all the kudos and kind comments; its probably a good 25% of the reason im able to churn this stuff out so quick. next one might actually be post-overwatch. or more shameless pre-ow fluff. u never kno.


End file.
